Free Hug
by eishi
Summary: Starting a free hugs campaign in South Park may or may not have been one of her dumbest ideas ever. CartmanWendy.


**A/N:** In short,  
a) English is not my native tongue, and thus,  
b) Spelling/grammar corrections would be very much appreciated.  
c) This is probably full of fail, since Cartman and Wendy, though how entertaining couple they would be, should and could never happen.  
d) And that is why this is called fan fiction: I don't own the characters, or the milieus, or anything at all. They belong to the awesome Stone–Parker -pair.  
e) Much thanks and love to Fletset, who gave in to my whining and beta-read this!

* * *

_**Free Hug**_

_by eishi (2008)_

* * *

Of course it was a stupid idea. Naturally, she had to try it out.

And predictably, this train of thought had resulted in chaos. Here she was, standing in the middle of the street, a huge sign hanging from her neck, small stuffed hearts hanging from her lilac coat, and looked absolutely ridiculous while arguing with Eric Theodore Cartman, of all people. Wendy wished the earth could just open up and swallow her at the very moment, and if that was impossible, a lighting would at least strike Cartman down. Alas, miracles never happened to her. She had to _make_ them happen.

"For the last time, Cartman, this is volunteer work; meaning, it's free!"  
"Hell no, ho! You're ignoring my point! Ah said, you're getting _something_ out of that! If it's a sick pleasure or money, ah don't know nor care, but I'm still right! You're getting _something_ out of it!"  
"That's not what you said three minutes ago!"  
"Was so!"  
"Was not!"

Wendy growled, shutting her eyes for a moment and trying to forget all the people that were probably staring them at the moment. She should've gone to Denver instead. Or even to her Grandma's house few miles away. The point was, starting a "free hugs" campaign in South Park – the coldest, the oddest and the meanest town there was in the States – was just as wise as trying to fight a whole army with a stick. It was bound to result in chaos. It was _doomed_ from the start.

Wendy huffed, opened her eyes and found herself looking straight in the brown-grey pits of Eric Cartman. She narrowed her eyes. It had all went fine until _he_ had shown up. Of course people had asked her about it. Of course they had been doubtful. And of course, after a while, the word had gotten out and every other resident of South Park was starting a "free hugs" campaign of their own. Wendy severely wished she'd been born to some mediocre family in New York, or Los Angeles, or if possible, even to Alaska. Definitely not to South Park, where each and every simple thing turned complicated and where difficult matters were reduced to the level of baby-talk.

"You're spacing out, ho."

"So what, Cartman!" she snapped and turned the other way to see were people still openly staring at them. No one was looking their way; they were probably bored by the continuing banter already. Wendy sighed deeply. Why did everyone else in this town have to be such easily manipulated little wusses who followed every fad and believed everything they were told? It had taken her two days to convince everyone that "free hugs" campaign would surely improve the world and make it a better place, and they had believed. It was no fun to do this anymore, not if everyone started to imitate her. Maybe she was selfish, maybe she was a hypocrite – but she just wished that there had been more of a challenge, that she could be able to say that she had set them the example, and after _years of hard work_, they had finally believed her and started to care about the environment, other people and finally, praised her for changing their views.

No such luck. The better world had arrived in two days.

She shivered. The temperature was below minus ten, and still she had been stubborn enough to continue her campaign – she refused to stop it just because everyone else was now doing just the same. Everyone else except for Eric Theodore Cartman.

How she hated and at the same time admired him for it.

"Just tell me, ho," Cartman suddenly asked, after few minutes of silence, "how do you think giving hugs is going to make the world a better place?"

Wendy sighed. She wouldn't fall for that: she knew Cartman well enough to know that whatever psychological or philosophical reason she used, Cartman would still find a way to twist and turn that into pieces and make her go back on her word. One could never win an argument against Cartman – you had to tire him out of it.

"Of course it's not going to make the world 'a better place', Cartman. A hug can't change anything. It's the gesture that counts."

Cartman narrowed his eyes, and then mockingly massaged his temples.

"Too much... psychological... crap... Can't... understand... the human nature."

Wendy actually laughed at that. She tried to keep the bubbling laughter inside of her, but it tickled her stomach too much and suddenly she was chuckling, then fully laughing, even more amused by the smirk Cartman sent to her. The placate hanging around her neck still trembled when she finally suppressed her laughter, hiding her face behind her palms. Eric had that odd effect on her: even the stupidest joke he told made her crack up and roll on the floor; even the slightest self-ironic remark he made warmed her heart and made her forgive him everything else he had said – which usually was 99,9 per cent racist crap.

"Tell me again why are you here, Cartman?" Wendy asked him, when she was back to her serious tone and dared to move her palms that had hid her blush. Cartman rolled his eyes.

"Well, ho," he started, making Wendy roll her eyes in turn, "it just so happens that apparently _you're_ the reason why I have to now endure those two fags making out at random places all the time."

Wendy had to stop there to think for a while – by "those two fags", Cartman must have meant Stan and Kyle, whom she had indeed seen hugging earlier on the day.

"Cartman..." she started, anger building in her voice again, "one: 'hugging' is not the same as 'making out'. Stop acting so homophobic. Two: it is not my fault if Stan and Kyle got caught up in this fad like everyone else. Three: the explanation you gave me still explains nothing. Four: now tell me, _why_ are you following me?"

"What, can't a guy escort his girlfriend on a trip to better the world?"

"For the last time, Cartman, I'm dating Clyde, if you don't happen to remember! I'm _not_ your girlfriend!" Wendy huffed, tired of repeating the same sentence every time she ran into Cartman. She vaguely remembered this to be the fifth time today, already.

"You kissed me," Cartman simply stated, staring ahead, arms crossed over his chest. Wendy struggled to keep her voice calm and pretend that the redness of her cheeks was because of the cold.

"I was drunk!" she exclaimed, grasping the sign as if it was her safety ring. "And I thought you were Clyde!"

"Yeah, sure, I can see where you were mistaken," Cartman dryly replied. Wendy looked the other way, fully knowing that her excuse of "my-boyfriend-looks-exactly-the-same-as-Eric-T.-Cartman-really" was so lame that even a first-grader could've came up with a bit less pathetic one. She clung on that silly excuse simply because she refused to admit aloud – or to herself – what were the words that had rung in her head that moment. Besides, with the same auburn sweater, the same haircut, and slight obesity, Eric and Clyde kind of looked the same. Kind of. At least when it was combined with her blurred eyesight (courtesy of being _drunk_), momentarily escapism (courtesy of being really _drunk_) and, well, being extremely _drunk_.

"And, anyway," Wendy continued, desperate to end the awkward silence, "one kiss doesn't make us a couple. It was just a drunken kiss."  
"You told me you wanted to elope with me and adopt three Ethiopian children."  
"_I was drunk!_"  
"There is no such excuse as 'being drunk', ho. Alcohol only makes you lower your walls and tell your true thoughts. It's not an excuse, it's a catalyst."  
"... You didn't realise that on your own, did you?"  
"No, I read an article about it this morning."

They fell back to silence, both glaring at the snow-covered esplanade. Wendy let go of her sign in favour of adjusting her pink earmuffs, painfully aware of the breathing pattern of Eric. She quickly stole a glance at him, explaining the motion to herself as "disinterest" and "keeping her enemies closer than her friends". Besides, there really wasn't much to look at Cartman. Red poof-ball hat, strikingly red winter-coat, blue pants, grey boots. Mean little eyes, pointy nose, double chin, space enough for three babies in the stomach. Wendy glared in disgust. If only Cartman spent all that money for helping the starving children he used for getting himself even more mass...

She shivered again, and glanced at him again. This time, she noticed something else. He was not fidgeting, hadn't moved an inch since he came, and yet seemed to be in perfect health in the twelve point two Fahrenheit air. Perhaps all that fat was good for _something_.

"Aren't you cold?" Wendy asked, panicking when Cartman turned his eyes to meet hers. Why had she said that aloud? Once again, she knew Cartman well enough to know what he was going to retort: a witty "no" and turn away, or sneer at her and mock her, somehow like "I'm not, but you are, and that's your fault, bitch. Your green revolution has yet to reach the politicians to stop the greenhouse effect and turn the seasons back the way they were."

Amazingly, he just grinned wickedly. "And that is the most pathetic way of breaking the ice I've heard all this afternoon."

"Well, you weren't making much effort yourself," Wendy snapped. Cartman raised an eyebrow. "Stop that! If you want to follow me, you could at least keep me company instead of freaking people out by glaring them like you were going to cook them for lunch!"

"Ay! I ain't descending to cannibalism just yet!"  
"You would, if the world ran out of fast food!"  
"So would you, ho!"  
"Would not!"  
"Would so!"  
"Would not!"  
"Would _so!_"

They stopped, eyes narrowed and breaths coming out in small huffs. She was trembling a bit, yet again; he stood straight, but had taken his hands out of his pockets and turned to face her. Wendy turned her look away, refusing to make another opening for discussion.

The wind was getting harsher, and the snowflakes were falling faster and faster. Wendy thought she should just give and go home – she had made fifteen hugs in two hours, after all. That would be enough for the day.

"Whom would you eat first, if you had to?"  
"Huh?" Wendy's eyes widened and she looked at Cartman, bewildered, but Cartman showed no signs of confusion. He patiently repeated:  
"Who would be your first choice? Who'd you eat first?"  
"That's disgusting, Cartman."  
"Is not, ho. It's _philosophical_."

Wendy hid her smirk with her hands again, waiting for a moment before answering. "I think I'd eat someone I hate. Or... no, maybe someone that was close to me, so that her death wouldn't be in vain."

"Ladies and gentlemen, hypocrisy at its best," Cartman muttered. He quickly continued, not letting Wendy take out her anger on him: "It is! Someone who's close to you is on the same line as someone you used to hate when they're deep-fried and neatly placed next to the potatoes. It doesn't matter."

"Well, whom would _you_ choose, then?" Wendy sneered. Cartman shrugged.

"Stan and Kyle, because I hate those guys."  
"... Oh god, not this again. If they irritate you so much, then why do you still hang around them?"  
"Because I hate them?"  
"And you like making their lives miserable. Right. But couldn't you stay away from them for most of the time?"  
"Hell no, ah'd miss the best opportunities to blackmail them!"  
"Cartman..." Wendy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "God, I hate you."  
"Hate you too, ho."

Something in the tone Cartman was using made Wendy consider the real meaning of his words again, but as discussing that in the middle of the street in the awfully chilly wind would change nothing, she let it go. The snow had stopped falling down; Wendy huffed to her hands, stole a glance at her clock and decided that she should leave in fifteen minutes. Cartman was not making any effort to join her campaign or even keeping her company (although a nagging voice in her head tried to say otherwise), and the streets were now deserted. The silence between the two stretched on.

Cartman started to hum, but Wendy didn't know the tune. She listened to Eric's soothing tenor voice for a while, but then turned her attention elsewhere. A family consisting two daughters, a father and a mother was nearing them. Wendy smiled and held up her sign.

"Free hug?" she asked cutely, when the family was passing her by. The daughters (approximately seven and ten) slowed down, staring at her. The mother tugged the younger one's hand, but the eldest child stopped, as did the father.

"So, it's free?" he asked, a genuine smile flashing on his face. Wendy nodded, smiling politely at the mother, who looked a bit incredulous and had taken the stance of instinctively protecting her daughters by hiding them behind her.

"It's a campaign going on everywhere in the world. Everyone needs a hug sometimes, so..." She spread her arms, blushing a little, when she noticed just how handsome the father looked with his grey eyes, high cheek bones and light-brown hair. "Here's one for free."

The father smiled, leaned on and gave Wendy a brief hug. After that, the whole family seemed convinced that hugging her was safe indeed, and she got a hug from them all. The family departed with smiles on their faces, and Wendy stared after them, a light blush still on her cheeks.

"You must feel _so good_ right now, ho," Cartman snickered. Wendy rolled her eyes.

"In fact, I do. So shut up, Cartman."

Cartman did. It took Wendy a couple of minutes to actually realise that, but when she did, she blinked and turned to see a grumpy Cartman.

"What's with you now, Cartman?"

"None of your business, ho."

Wendy eyed him skeptically, noticing how mean the glint in his eyes was right now and how his double-chin was fluttering. "No, Cartman, really. What is it?"

Cartman narrowed his eyes before taking a deep sigh, turning his face to her and smiling evilly. "Just jealous of my girl. You've been cheating on me all day with guys you don't even know."

Wendy resisted the urge to pinch her nose like Stan and Kyle usually did. She wouldn't be a copy-cat.

"One: _I'm not your girlfriend_, Cartman. Two: how is _hugging_ random people cheating on anyone? And three: stop giving me that crap, one day I'm going to wake up brainwashed and believe that you really care about me."

In her mind, Wendy – for some unknown, twisted and strange reason – wished that Cartman's answer would've been a romantic "you don't have to wake up" or something like that. Naturally, it wasn't.

"'Phase one: collect information' completed. 'Phase two: unknown' started." Cartman chuckled. "Just you wait, Testaburger. You're already in my trap, and don't even know it yet."  
"I do, because you just told me that."  
"Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe that was just part of my greater plan, hm? How can you tell _that_, ho?"

Wendy was seriously starting to lose her nerve with this irrational and yet, oddly predictable boy. "Cartman, if you don't want to find yourself sailing towards the sun, I advice you to keep your face shut from this moment on. Permanently."

Cartman just raised one eyebrow, lifted his face to the sky and started to hum again. Wendy grimaced when she realised that she should've left half an hour ago. It was all _Cartman's_ fault that she was still standing here and freezing her ass off. Naturally.

It had started snowing again, and there were even less people on the streets, and those few that passed her by didn't even spare a glance at her sign. Wendy counted that she had made nineteen hugs in two hours and a half – only one more, and she would go home. One more and she had a nice, even number of hugs. Her perfectionistic mind couldn't leave it as nineteen.

Time passed slowly; Cartman was still standing beside her in the snowfall, and hadn't said a word since Wendy had threatened him. Wendy refused to swallow her pride and start _talking_ to him, even if the minutes were passing by so boringly that it was giving her a headache.

Just one more hug, she kept telling herself. Just one more.

A young boy glanced at her over the street, and Wendy held up her sign again, smiling. The boy grinned, but didn't stop for a hug. Wendy put the placate down, defeated.

Just one more.

When she had reached an admirable three hours of standing in the cold, she couldn't stand the silence and the boringness anymore.

"Cartman, why are you still here?"  
No answer.  
"Cartman?"  
Nothing.  
"Talk to me, you disgusting, narcissistic, evil prick!"  
Cartman laughed at her. "No."  
"Why not?"  
"Because you'd send me to sun if I did," he answered, humour in his voice. Wendy rolled her eyes, thinking that she tended to do that a lot around Cartman.

"You have already said a sentence, and yet, you're not on a spaceship. Now entertain me."  
"Hell no, ho."  
"Then scram! You're scaring people away!"  
"Me? Ah don't havta to do anythin' to scare 'em, you're scaring them you'self with your PMSing!"  
"They're more scared of your wobbling double-chin than me!"  
"Ay!"  
"And that awful glint in your eyes!"  
"Ah... ah'm... ah'm... _so-pissed-off-right-now_, ho!"  
"Stop calling me a ho, Cartman!"  
"Screw you, bitch, ah'm goin' home!"

They glared at each other, but Wendy found herself actually more amused by their little debate than angered. Eric was more funny than scary when he was angry – he reduced to his ten-year-old self and started to talk in that odd accent of his that always cracked her up. Somehow, that brought pleasant memories to Wendy's mind from third grade, even if she had forgotten most of what she ever saw in Cartman.

"Then why aren't you moving?"  
"I'm... I'm saving my legs. My mom's coming to pick me up in five minutes."  
"_Really_."  
"Really."

Wendy chuckled at him, and Cartman turned away, murmuring something to himself. It was amazing how he could be so cruel, so manipulative, so psychotic – and yet, sweet and caring when wanted to. Maybe he really had a split personality? That would surely explain his odd behaviour...

Wendy glanced at her clock again: now it really was time to leave. Nineteen hugs wasn't that bad.

Nineteen. Nineteen. _Nineteen_.

Just one more, and it would be twenty.

Wendy stole a glance at Cartman, who was glaring at the man passing by. Just one more...

"Whatever, Cartman," she finally announced, "I'm leaving now."  
"Sure, ho," Carman muttered, not seeming interested. Wendy took a breath.  
"Want a hug?"  
"Huh?"  
"It's free," she smiled. Cartman raised an eyebrow and examined her a while.  
"Fine," he finally said.

Wendy took a step forward and boldly put her arms around Cartman, who did the same to her after a small hesitation. Wendy suddenly realised there, standing in the snow, the placate stinging her stomach, Cartman's soft body keeping her warm and massive hands gently holding her back, that she hadn't touched him since that notorious third grade incident with the debate club. Blood rushed to her cheeks with this thought, and after the obligatory two seconds for a hug had passed, she found herself unable to move.

She wasn't the only one, it seemed: Eric's hands that were still on her back, hadn't moved to release her. Wendy suddenly panicked, picturing five or six different scenarios of how Cartman would find a way to benefit out of this (one: blackmailing her, because she had _cheated on Clyde_ by hugging him; two: forcing her to do some slave work for him, because she was _obviously interested in him_ – as expressed by a too-long-for-being-a-normal hug – and she didn't want Clyde to find out; three: mocking her and her campaign, because it was "obviously meant for horny hoes and their needs to seduce random by-passers"...).

Eric didn't say anything, however, and Wendy was still unable to move. Her mind was racing: how many seconds had passed now, five or six, or seven, oh god, how was she ever going to explain this one to Cartman, why couldn't she just _move_ already—

Then she finally freaked out and stumbled backwards, blinking maniacally and her hands shaking. Eric's hands slowly – and in Wendy's romantically twisted little mind, unwillingly – dropped from her back. Wendy stared at the ground, Cartman at her.

"Well, um, I... I'm going now," she mumbled, trying to reassure herself that _nothing was wrong_. "See you around, Cartman."

"Whatever, h—" Cartman sneered, swallowing a nasty 'ho'. Wendy whirled around, her heart thumping too loudly for comfort.

"Um, bye," she said, and without looking back, started to walk towards Clyde's house. She needed to see him now. Now. Now. _Now_.

"See you, Wendy."

She turned, but Eric had already stepped into a waiting car – he _hadn't_ been lying about his mom, it seemed – and didn't see how she shyly raised her hand and waved after him.

Wendy smiled to herself. Twenty hugs, uncountable number of insults and something to think about, all in one day. Maybe it hadn't been such a bad idea after all.

* * *

A/N: Free hugs is a real campaign. And it _makes_ the world a better place. Or not. I dunno.


End file.
